


Feels Like Falling

by luulapants



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Jordan Parrish, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Making Love, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Romance, Soft Boys, Top Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luulapants/pseuds/luulapants
Summary: "In a moment when Jordan had felt more inhuman, more beastly than he could ever have imagined, Derek pulled him back. Derek made him feel soft, vulnerable. Derek, Jordan realized, understood that you could be ferocious and breakable all at once. You could be a warrior and still need saving."Jordan and Derek take their time falling in love.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Jordan Parrish
Comments: 20
Kudos: 64





	Feels Like Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Jordan Parrish Appreciation Week 2020](https://jordanparrishappreciation.tumblr.com/).

Derek first fell for Jordan when he was fifteen years old. For most people, that might have been an issue, since he and Jordan first met when they were in their early twenties. Of course, they had never been ‘most people.’

Remembering the de-aging felt odd at first, like an entirely new curve of time had been inserted into his life. In some ways, he remembered it as if it had happened in the normal, linear course of events – one moment an adult, the next a child, then an adult again. Part of his brain contextualized it as if it had happened back then, though – back when his family was still alive and he hadn’t yet made the biggest mistake of his entire life. A time when he was no stranger to grief, but was not yet its hostage.

One thing he remembered quite clearly, however: in his confusion and fear, crouched in the ruins of his home, Jordan approached him with caution and kindness. Then, later at the police station, that kind face came close to his, heedless of any violence he might have been capable of. Wrapped up in his own panic, feeling the hole in himself where his mother’s presence should have been, Derek found himself silently pleading for the deputy to give him something – anything – to hold onto.

Hope.

An anchor.

Jordan gave him a smile. Warm, unguarded, astonishingly handsome.

Derek felt something swoop inside of himself, a belt of yearning, maybe puppy love. All Derek knew was that he felt safe in that smile and he never wanted to look away from it.

* * *

  
  


Jordan first fell for Derek in a warehouse on the edge of town, covered in ash and not much else.

The others had explained what he was, had given him books and articles of lore on hellhounds, but he still didn’t really understand what it all meant. Neither, he suspected, did the others. They knew he could create fire and heat and couldn’t be burned. They knew that he had an instinct to protect banshees and that he had a tendency to black out and play coroner for supernatural corpses.

In the warehouse, for the first time, he lost control of his powers without losing his memory.

The hunters had closed in from all sides, more of them than they had expected. The pack fought, Jordan included, but it wasn’t looking good. Then, on the other side of the building, Lydia’s screams shifted from her familiar weaponized shrieks to something more human. Pain. Fear.

Jordan felt the heat rise around him. His hand closed around the nearest hunter’s throat. The man grabbed for his arm and screamed as the touch brought blisters to his palm. When Jordan dropped him, his skin was bubbling, the stink of burning flesh filling the room.

Looking up, he saw that the pack and hunters alike had fallen back away from him. He turned to one group of hunters and roared. He felt more beast than man as the flames erupted from his skin. A woman raised her gun and fired, but the bullets melted against his skin. The snarls tearing from his throat – he had never known he could make those noises. A wave of flame shot forward at them, scorching the ground and sending the whole army fleeing for the exits.

He collapsed after they had gone, panting and reeling from the loss of control. It had been like watching someone else operate his body, fully aware of every movement but unable to do anything.

Footsteps padded softly on the ground behind him.

Jordan expected to see fear on his friends’ faces when he turned. They _should_ be afraid of him. Hell, he was afraid of himself.

Instead, he saw Derek standing over him, a flannel shirt held out in one hand. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Jordan stared at him incredulously. He had just burned a man to death. Derek wanted to know if  _he_ was okay?

“They shot you,” Derek said calmly, as if maybe Jordan hadn’t noticed. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” he answered, glancing down at his bare stomach. There were little scorch marks where the bullets had struck, nothing more. “No, I’m alright.”

Derek reached out cautiously, fingers testing the temperature of his skin quickly before wrapping around his elbow and pulling him to his feet. “Here,” he said, and he wrapped the flannel around Jordan’s waist, tying it at his hip. Once he was finished, one of his fingers brushed over one of the marks the bullets had left. The muscles twitched under his touch. Ticklish.

In a moment when Jordan had felt more inhuman, more beastly than he could ever have imagined, Derek pulled him back. Derek made him feel soft, vulnerable. Derek, Jordan realized, understood that you could be ferocious and breakable all at once. You could be a warrior and still need saving.

“Thanks,” Jordan murmured.

“Let’s get you home,” Derek said.

* * *

  
  


Derek first kissed Jordan on a cold day in December.

He got a text in the early hours of the morning: _Think I need a ride to ER_.

By the time he saw it, a little after six, it had been almost two hours since Jordan had sent the message, and there had been none after it. “Shit,” he muttered, hitting the call icon next to Jordan’s name and trying to quell his rising panic as worst case scenarios raced through his head.

The voice that answered was weak and slurred. “H’lo?”

“Are you okay? I’m sorry, I was asleep.”

“M’sick,” Jordan said, and there was a loopy quality to his tone that had Derek frantically tugging on his shoes, the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear.

“Are you at your apartment?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m on my way. What happened?”

“I just…” There was a cough on the other end of the line, then a snuffling sound. “Had a fever last night. One-oh-four. Wouldn’t go down. Was gonna go to the hospital, but I fell asleep. It’s lower now.”

“Where’s it at?” Derek asked. He tugged his jacket on.

“One-oh-one. M’okay. You don’t have to come.”

Derek didn’t listen, of course. He stopped by the grocery store for cold medicine and some comfort food. Half an hour later, he used his spare key to unlock Jordan’s door.

“Hey, it’s just me,” he called, but when he stepped inside, Jordan was laid out on the couch, bundled in blankets and fast asleep. Derek quietly made his way to the kitchen to put the groceries away. He could hear a faint rattle in Jordan’s breathing, and the apartment smelled like sweat and illness.

He headed back into the living room and sat on the coffee table, facing Jordan. Derek pressed the backs of his fingers against Jordan’s sweaty brow to feel for his temperature. They were still too cold from being outside, and the skin felt burning hot.

An old memory came to him then. Just an image: his Aunt Claire in his cousins’ bedroom. Ben, the human one, was sick in bed, nose red against his small, pale face. Aunt Claire, sitting on his bedside, leaned over and kissed his forehead. “ _There_ ,” she said, “ _the fever’s going down_.”

Derek hesitated. “Jord?” he murmured. The other man didn’t react. Slowly, Derek leaned forward and pressed his lips to Jordan’s hairline. The scent of him was strong there, almost overwhelming. Comforting, too, despite the overtones of illness. He almost forgot to pay attention to the temperature at all and had to spend and extra moment there. Hot, yes, but not burning up.

“Derek?” Jordan mumbled.

Pulling back quickly, Derek felt himself flush. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

“Awful.” There was an almost childish pout in the words. His eyes blinked open, staring up at Derek with hazy affection. “Flu’s been going around the station,” he explained.

“I brought cold medicine,” Derek offered. “If you can sit up, I’ll get it for you.”

Jordan sniffled and shifted up against the pillows. He coughed. There were lines on his face from the pillow, more pronounced for the flush on his cheeks. When Derek passed him the little cup of medicine, Jordan’s fingers brushed over his, stroking up to the second knuckle before pulling back and taking the cup. “Thanks,” he said with a sleepy little smile. “I’m glad you came.”

* * *

  
  


Jordan first kissed Derek on New Year’s Day.

The pack had thrown a party at the loft the night before, but Jordan had only been able to stop by for half an hour before heading off for a graveyard shift. He didn’t work them very often any more, had only been called in because of the holiday, and he had apparently lost all ability to tolerate the schedule change. Around four in the morning, ready to nod off in his squad car, he started chugging coffee and didn’t stop until his shift ended at eight.

Around nine, still wired from the caffeine and jittery from the lack of sleep, he went back to the loft, figuring Derek could use help scraping hungover guests off his floor.

He didn’t bother knocking, just used his spare key and slipped inside. At first glance, the place was messy but empty. Jordan closed the door behind him. “Derek?”

A noise from the loft caught his attention. A moment later, Derek was looking at him over the railing. He only wore a pair of basketball shorts, chest bare and hair sticking up on one side. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes. “Hey, what’s up?”

“No one stayed over?” Jordan asked, gesturing at the empty loft.

Derek shook his head. “There were enough werewolves to drive the drunks home.”

Suddenly, he felt like he was intruding. “Oh. Sorry,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“No, stay,” Derek said quickly. “I should get up anyway. I’ll screw up my schedule.” He disappeared from the railing, then reappeared on the stairs a few moments later wearing an unzipped hoodie. “I’m surprised you’re still awake,” Derek commented.

Jordan did his best to shake off his momentary awkwardness. “Uh, drank too much coffee,” he explained, following Derek’s trajectory toward the kitchen. “At this point, I should probably just try to stay up, too.”

Derek nodded. “Well, then, we can keep each other awake,” he decided. He grabbed the pot out of the coffee maker. “More coffee?”

“Please.”

“I wish you’d been here last night,” Derek said as he filled the pot. “Those parties always make me feel a thousand years old.” He poured the water into the coffee maker, then pulled out the filter basket. “They’re all doing the crazy college kid thing, drinking and making out in the bathroom. Meanwhile I’m standing around making sure they don’t break anything like a grumpy parent.”

Jordan found himself grinning at the mental imagery. “So, what, you want another grown-up to be grumpy with you?”

Derek spooned the coffee grounds into the basket, snapped it back into place, and hit the button to start the brew. He looked over his shoulder at Jordan with an unexpectedly shy expression. “I think if you were there, I wouldn’t be so grumpy,” he admitted.

It wasn’t just those words that set Jordan’s heart trembling in his chest. It was the whole moment. Derek’s sleep-rumpled state. The quiet domesticity of standing in the kitchen while the pale morning light slipped its way through the room. The burble of the coffee maker springing to life.

Jordan’s feet acted before he’d even made up his mind, crossing the few steps between them. Derek turned to face him, already smiling like he knew exactly what was coming. And maybe he did.

The kiss was as soft as the moment, light and tender. Derek’s hands slipped around his waist, pulling him closer, and then they were pressed together. Jordan’s hands cupped Derek’s jaw, thumbs brushing over the fuzz of his beard. They went slowly, enjoying the lazy slide of lips through the taste of old coffee and stale morning breath. Jordan didn’t realize how long they had been making out until the coffee maker finally beeped.

* * *

  
  


They first made love on New Year’s Day, their coffee forgotten downstairs and going cold.

Derek’s bed was tucked into a corner of the loft, away from and facing the railing and the giant wall of windows. The sky outside was a hazy gray, like it hadn’t quite figured out that it was morning. The blankets had long since been shoved to the foot of the bed, sheets already soiled with spilled lube as Derek opened Jordan up.

His fingers slipped free, and Jordan made a petulant noise of protest. Sitting back against the headboard with his legs crossed, Derek grinned at him. “Be patient,” he chided, leaning over to pluck the condom off the nightstand. As he opened it, he drank in the sight of Jordan in front of him on his elbows and knees, legs spread wide and cock hanging heavy between them.

“I’ll show you patient,” Jordan grumbled. He pushed up onto his knees and shuffled backward toward Derek. Reaching behind, he braced himself on the headboard and straddled Derek’s lap backward.

“This seems like the opposite of patience,” Derek commented.

Jordan looked down at him with a smirk. “You complaining?”

Derek kept one hand wrapped around his own cock, holding it steady, and slipped the other over Jordan’s hip to guide him down. “No.”

Then, after all, Jordan did show him patience as he sank onto Derek’s cock at an agonizing pace. His thighs trembled with the control it took, breaths shuddering out in soft, rasping gasps. “You feel so good,” he breathed, his head tipped back and eyes closed. Derek dragged a hand over the flat of Jordan’s belly up to his chest, pressed his palm flat over his racing heart. “God, Derek, you feel so fucking good.”

When he was finally fully seated in Derek’s lap, tight and hot and clenching, Jordan stopped and leaned back against Derek’s chest, panting. “You good?” Derek asked. His own voice sounded unfamiliar, low and broken with want.

“Just need a minute,” Jordan said.

Derek wrapped his arms tight around Jordan’s middle, holding him close as he buried his nose against Jordan’s throat. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when that scent had become such a familiar comfort to him, but it had been for a while. To be able to just press his face in close and breathe in greedy gulps – he felt almost drunk on it.

“Are you smelling me?” There was quiet amusement in the question.

Derek’s reply was muffled against Jordan’s skin. “Yes.”

Fingers combed through his hair, gentle, then tugged. When Derek lifted his head, Jordan was looking back at him, eyes soft and lips swollen. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he said.

As they kissed again, Jordan began to roll his hips, low moans hummed against one another’s lips. Derek didn’t know how to explain how long it had been for him. In the twisting of timelines, there was a part of him that felt like he’d been in love for half his life, even if it had only been a few years. Jordan lifted onto his knees and dropped back with a broken gasp of pleasure. Derek conceded to himself that he probably couldn’t have explained his own name just then, so that was fine.

They would have time for talk later.

Derek found that he liked the intimacy of the position. He liked being able to keep Jordan clutched tight against him, to kiss his neck and touch him all over. His fingers brushed at small, peaked nipples, then slipped down over smooth inner thighs. When he massaged Jordan’s balls in one hand, he was rewarded with a short, sharp cry of pleasure. Jordan’s hips stuttered out of rhythm. The other hand wrapped around Jordan’s cock, loose.

“Not yet,” Jordan murmured after a handful of lazy strokes. He reached down to still Derek’s hands. “Not ready for it to be over yet.” He sounded almost forlorn at the idea.

Nipping at Jordan’s earlobe, Derek assured him, “This won’t be the last time. God, I’m crazy about you. You know that, right?”

Jordan shivered in his arms. “You, too,” he agreed. “I want...” He trailed off.

Derek rested his forehead on Jordan’s shoulder, eyes closed. “I want everything.”

The hand wrapped around his wrist shifted down to his hand, tightening the grip on his cock and encouraging him to resume his strokes as Jordan’s hips began to move again, faster and more purposeful as he angled each movement. Derek felt himself careening toward that edge, groaning into Jordan’s shoulder as he struggled to hold on.

“I’m so close,” he warned.

“Me too,” Jordan panted. “Fuck, me too.”

The moment he felt Jordan spill over his hand, Derek moved the other to his hip, holding him steady while he thrust up once, twice, and then shuddered through his own release. They sat still for a long moment, their hearts thundering and breaths coming out short.

A quiet laugh caught him by surprise. “Look,” Jordan said.

Derek lifted his head.

“It’s snowing.”

Outside the windows, thin wisps of snow had begun to drift by, not in any apparent hurry to reach the ground. From their vantage point, Derek couldn’t see if it was sticking, but the air was full of it. White and hazy and beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> I love getting comments!! You can also come visit me on [tumblr](https://luulapants.tumblr.com/).


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